(x = space)
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I know this is odd (well, odder), but I got hungry
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Portrait of the Artist as a Hungry Person
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Tired and hungry
Thirsty
Maybe that’s all there is
For now
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I sit here and write
Distraction
Is a sea behind me
What in the hour
Should I do
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How shall I let go
To find something
For the cup
On the plate
In my hand
Excused from this
x
To dine
To talk with someone
To play a game
Before returning
To this game
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C L Couch
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x
Photo by Juan Manuel Núñez Méndez on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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In My Father’s Now-and-Then Kitchen
(and backyard)
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My father could cook many things
Well, six things
The rest were disasters
Like shipwrecks on rocks
On waiting shores
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He could make—combine,
Stir, apply, bake—apple pie
He taught me how to have
Cheddar cheese with that
x
He could make blackberry cobbler
Blackberries, maybe, because of
Growing up
In Olympia
Where there were
Berry trees and bushes in abundance
Real crust (back to the cobbler)
Made from many ingredients
The right amount of sweet and salt
To savor
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He could make bean soup
Ham and bone kept from another meal
Beans soaked for days
It seems
He might have made the cornbread
That came with it
Maybe my mom made that
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Have I got to six?
Well, he could grill adept
If maybe nothing challenging
The usual suburban fare
Meat and vegetables
I’m a plebe
I like hamburgers
I was satisfied
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My mother cooked everything else
Too bad you can’t taste
Her corned beef with cabbage
Carrots and potatoes
With the cornbread
(Southern)
That she made
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I can’t taste it anymore
For many years
Except to remember
I’ve found nothing close to hers
In waking time,
Since
Sigh
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What else my father cooked
Was awful
(shapeless shapes
on plates)
He was the only one
To eat those things
He made
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C L Couch
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Photo by Daniel Gamez on Unsplash
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clcouch123 
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